Hona tha pyar! ( A Virat Kohli Fanfiction)

Breaking news!

Hi guys this is my first time so please be a little less harsh! Go Viratians! and Oh yeah, the OFC's full name is Srijha chakraborty and pet name is Sriti. I hope its not that confusing! Hope you enjoy this! 

Srijha Pov

" A suicide bomber dressed in school uniform attacks an army facility in Pakistan, killing at least 31 people and injuring others, officials say."
"CUT!!!!" the director shouted signalling me to stop for reciting the same old thing, across the studio crowded by team of the channel, lined by Flash lights, Microphones, Video cameras; every other usual thing that you find in ordinary news channel studios. The room included the staffs of the Prime news, the channel where I work in for approximately four months. I am Srijha Chakraborty, 21 years old graduate with degree in Journalism and Mass Communication from the city of lights as the people call, Kolkata. I was so interested in journalism that I couldn't stop myself to join with my father's team. Err, yeah...the director who just shouted out the same word  about seven time since the morning and quite derisively made my morning perfect is my beloved father, Subrato Chakraborty, a fun loving, hypothetical, glamour chaser kind of a person and proudly my only parent since I was 5.
"What did I do wrong now?" I frowned, as I walked up to him. As I was about to put my hands on my hips in frustration, my stylist quite literally jumped right up to me and restrained my move.
"Sriti babes! Don't ruin your suit!! Here let's put some more foundation patch on you, you look dangerously pale!!" she chooed. I sighed; I really regret every stinking day in here and my choice for joining dad in his channel and not being able to explore anything. Well! My dad never wanted me to be the one running in the crowds, crushed by other journalists, travelling down to risky places kind of a person, the main reason why I always desired to be a reporter. He wanted me to be in the studio, sit all day through interviews and read out the headlines and host over some celebrities who probably are also seeking their long lost publicities. I really appreciate my dad for loving me to this extent but, when your passion is to beg, then you are ought to beg.

"Can you stop showing that attitude, young lady? Your speech improvisation suck, please improve?" he said bluntly, as I refused the greasy chemical that my stylist was about to apply.
"Dad, when you have to wax your face for all day long like I do, you would be complaining more than I do right now. Anyways, when is the next take?" I muttered as I sucked my cheeks glanced while distancing myself from the hair spray that my frothy stylist was about to choke me on.
"In the evening, around four!" he said without looking up from his computer. Sometimes I do wonder what could actually be the benefit of being in a family business or at a work place where you probably have to obey to rules of your family member. I really think it is more of a tragedy than glory. It's awful to have a boss who is actually your father. It is seriously impossible to make any excuse to slack a day off. I sometimes really wonder since when did I get a chance to refuse him. And when exactly was the last time I took a weekend off to just relax and not write my scripts and headlines? Suddenly, my cell phone rings out with a really embarrassing baby laughing auto-tune as the ringtone. Embarrassed to the core, I searched my every possible pocket. Dad decided to enjoy watching me search my pockets like a mad man, along with other channel staffs at the corner.
"Better be a worth one" I muttered, as my stylist laughed at the back at my choice of ringtones.
I ran out in the hallway of the office and groaned at the name that flashed.
"What...You know that I am busy, right?" I sighed.
"O.M.G!!! Shut up... They are coming here!!" my best friend Riya squealed like a wreck on the other side of the phone.
"Err... Who is it this time??" I asked. Whenever she screamed 'their back' it is a clear foreshadow to my next stressful interview.
She sang with a glee, "The indian Cricket team for som.."
"some stupid tournament?" I enquired, sighing again. My face puckered as if I tasted a lemon. It is not like I hold any kind of grudges against them; it means those stupendous work I have to go through that I don't appreciate much... I am just not another cricket fandom notifying meter who goes off every five minutes on the television sets. I hate how our channel have tag along with them whenever they come to our town. Why can't they just leave the news channels alone for awhile... Ok I do agree its the media that are more desperate about knowing their life planning and asking lame questions. Even though this will be my first interview with them, only if my dad manages to bag me an interview with them, which will be possible any time from now; but I have heard many people whine about the work they get when the boys come to the town, especially during the IPLs. This group of men can be hectic when they are in town.
"Eeehhh!!!" she squeals,
"Ughhh!!" I groaned.
"Isn't that great...You better tell me when they are coming to your studio...I really want to meet them." she must be jumping by now like a school girl.
"Yeah well... I don't even know if my dad will urge them to come here again, I mean it's been only a year ago the last time they were interviewed."